Stalking Darkness

Alec remarked, noting the leather breastplate and frontlet.
    “That’s to accustom him to the feel of it,” she explained. “For battle, the leather’s replaced with felt pads and bronze plates.”
    “How do you like military life? And what do I call you now?”
    “We all start as riders, although those of us with commissions are actually officers from the start. I’ll be a lieutenant when we ride off to the war. Right now all the new riders are divided up into training decuria. I’m in the first turma under Captain Myrhini. Lieutenants lead three decuriae, but it’s the captain more often than not who leads the drills—”
    “Hold on!” Alec interjected, reining in. “You soldiers speak a different language. What’s a turma?”
    “I’m still getting it all straight myself,” she admitted. “Let’ssee, now—ten riders make a decuria, which is led by a sergeant. Three decuriae to a turma, commanded by a lieutenant; three turmae to a troop and four troops to a squadron; two squadrons to the regiment. What with officers, sutlers and the like, there’s about eight hundred of us altogether. Captain Myrhini has command of First Troop of the Lion Squadron under Commander Klia. Commander Perris commands the Wolf Squadron. And the Queen’s oldest son, Prince Korathan, is the regimental commander.”
    “Sounds like a pretty exclusive bunch.”
    “The Horse Guard is an elite regiment; the officers are all nobles. The riders all have to provide their own mounts and prove themselves at riding and shooting, so most of them are from well-to-do families as well. I’d never have gotten a commission without Seregil’s help. Still, elite or not, you should see some of the young blue bloods tumbling off their horses as they try to draw! I tell you, I’ve never appreciated Father’s training so much as now. Sergeant Braknil thinks Captain Myrhini will want to keep me in her troop when I’ve finished training. I’ll have thirty riders under me. But how about you? I suppose Seregil’s keeping you pretty busy?”
    “Oh, yes.” Alec rolled his eyes. “I think I’ve gotten all of ten hours sleep this week. When we’re not arguing with traders or going off to some fancy gathering, he’s got me sitting up half the night memorizing royal lineages. I think he secretly means to make me into a scribe.”
    A little pause spread out and in it he felt the distance opening between them as they headed down their divergent paths. What he really wanted to tell her about were their nocturnal adventures, but Seregil was adamant about secrecy outside Watcher circles. At some point, he thought, Nysander ought to recruit Beka.
    Looking up, he found her studying his face with a faint smile. It occurred to him that having grown up around Micum and Seregil, she probably had a fair idea of his unspoken life.
    “Did I tell you Seregil’s teaching me Aurënfaie?” he said, anxious to reestablish common ground.
    “Nös eyír?”
    He laughed. “You, too?”
    “Oh, yes. Elsbet and I were always pestering him to teach us when he came to visit. She had a better head for it, naturally, but I know a little. I suppose you’ll need it, too. It’s all the fashion among the nobles.”
    “Seregil says most of them sound like they’re talking through a mouthful of wet leather when they try. He’s making certain I get it right.
Makir y’torus eyair
. How’s that?”
    “Korveu tak melilira. Afarya tös hara’beniel?”
she replied, wheeling her horse and kicking it into a gallop.
    Assuming it had either been an insult or an invitation to another race, Alec galloped after her.
    Dusk was settling outside the windows of Seregil’s bedchamber when Alec strode in with flushed cheeks and new snow melting in his hair. The sweet tang of a cold ocean wind still clung to him.
    “Tell me we don’t have to dress up tonight!” he pleaded, dropping down on the hearth rug by Seregil’s feet.
    Seregil laid his book aside and stretched lazily. “You look like you’ve had quite an afternoon.”
    “We rode for miles! I should have taken my bow—we ended up in the hills and there were rabbits everywhere.”
    “I may have some other hunting for you.” Seregil pulled a small scroll from his belt and brandished it between two long fingers. “This was left at the Black Feather for the Rhíminee Cat. It seems Lady Isara has lost some compromising letters and she wants them back. She thinks Baron Makrin’s study is a good place to start